Re part 5 - Resurrection
by BlackFrostWarrior
Summary: Bruce Wayne is dead, which leaves only one person to take up the mantel of Batman. But was his death truly an accident, or was he murdered?. And if he was, who killed him and why?. Probably AU, no slash or pairing.
1. Prologue

**_A/N: As with previous stories, it is highly recommended that you read parts 1-4 before reading part 5. Probably AU, definitely flawed. Feel free to point that out and the author will happily add your complaint to the file on their computer dedicated to this story's issues._**

**_Please, enjoy the story._**

* * *

_Gotham Cemetery_

_November 3__rd__, 06:30PM_

Cold winds had come to Gotham. Snow blanketed the land, acting as a reflection of the ice which had begun to form around Richard Grayson's heart. He had always known there was darkness in him, and had also recognized that Bruce Wayne was his only way out of it. He had been aware from the first day that Bruce was trying to help him, that he would not allow Dick to fall into the darkness as he had.

But now Bruce was gone, and Dick was all alone, with nothing barring his entry to that darkness within. That place he'd tried so long, so very long, to ignore, to avoid, to keep hidden even from himself. He could feel it tugging at him now, drawing him ever further from the light which he had so long lived his life in.

The difference between heroes and villains was sometimes subtle. But he had always known right where the line was, had walked it a time or two, but never crossed it. Now it didn't seem like such a big thing to go over to the other side. He had no delusions that his feelings were right, that the thoughts in his head were really intended for a good purpose.

No. He was not so far gone as to think that. Maybe one day, but not today.

Due to the weather, the funeral of Bruce Wayne had been delayed until now. As if Gotham itself was weeping for its fallen hero, blizzards of unseasonable strength had blown through almost ceaselessly, snowing in heroes and villains alike, locking them in as if to prevent them from fighting, to insist on a moment of silence for the one who was now gone.

Dick had stood watching the casket lowered into the ground, telling himself over and over that Bruce was really dead, that he would not be back. Since Bruce had died, Dick had gone and looked at the body every day, proving to himself over and over that he was not dreaming, that there had been no mistake. That his father was well and truly gone.

It was worse, somehow, that it was Bruce who had died. To die as Batman, saving the world, was to be expected. Maybe Dick would have been able to come to terms with such sacrifice. But it was such a random freak thing. An explosion during a party thrown by Luthor. They'd found the people who planted the bombs, just some kids who were disgusted with Luthor and high society in general. Kids!.

It wasn't right.

Timothy Drake, Dick's adopted brother, had stood beside him, unshed tears in his eyes, biting his lower lip until it bled. So recently had he too been stricken by a childish act of hatred, which had nearly stolen his own life as well.

Tim. The only reason Dick was still here, still struggling against the darkness inside himself. Without Bruce to guide him, the boy needed a father figure. Dick might not be best suited to the task, but he was all Tim had other than Alfred, who was a wise friend and fantastic butler, but somehow not the father figure that a young Robin needed.

Tim needed Batman. Gotham needed Batman.

Neither had ever truly needed Nightwing. The team had never really needed Nightwing, not when they had Kaldur. Nobody needed Nightwing. But the world did need Batman.

Dick could be that for them. He had the knowledge, the training, the experience, the skill and even the way of thinking. It had never been a secret that he and Batman were so perfectly in sync that they rarely needed to even speak to one another.

He would be a poor replacement, but the best there could be.

After the funeral, the small crowd drifted away. Dick had barely been aware of them, hardly knew who any of them were. Alfred was standing by the limo, waiting to take them home, somehow knowing in that special way of his that Tim and Dick needed a moment alone to say goodbye to their father.

It was a moment reserved for the Robins, the sons of Batman.

The gray sky threw down a few flakes of snow, warning of the storm to come. Dick didn't feel the cold frozen bits of water land on his face or neck. He was already so cold inside that nothing could have made him feel anything but numb.

He didn't notice Tim looking up at him, searching for a way to deal with his loss in the eyes of his new mentor. He had no idea that Tim saw what he needed to in his eyes. Tim didn't see the anger, or the death, but something else. A reason to keep going. Even in the midst of grief, there was still a light in Dick's eyes, which spoke of the world he intended to save.

"I was shocked, to say the least, to discover that Bruce had not gotten out of the building," the sound of Lex Luthor's voice made Dick clench his jaw.

He hated that voice so much right now. For a moment, he could feel. Bitter anger, tainted only by the intensity of his sorrow, the hollowness inside.

"You're so young to be without parents," Luthor went on, coming to stand beside Dick.

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but noticed that Dick was ignoring Luthor and chose to do the same. Dick didn't trust himself to speak to the man right now. Even though it wasn't really his fault that Bruce was dead, Dick still held him responsible in his heart. It had happened on Luthor's property, the explosion had been meant for Luthor.

"And so very young to be trying to run Bruce's company without him," the remark hit home, and Dick could not remain silent.

"This is neither the time nor the place, Luthor," he growled, fury flashing in his dark eyes.

He didn't dare look at Luthor, lest he do something he would regret. He clenched his fists, and steadfastly looked at the new grave his father had been put to rest in.

"Oh but it is," Luthor told him "you don't want to be the one to sink Bruce's company, do you?. After all, how disappointed he would be if-,"

"Do not speak his name to me again," Dick warned "if you would like to have a meeting, schedule it. But know this," he turned and looked Luthor in the eye, rage blazing hot inside him, feeling good after being cold and numb so long "I will never sell the company, especially to the likes of you. Maybe Bruce didn't see you for the bastard you are, but I do,"

It wasn't completely true. Bruce had been well aware of Luthor's evil side, but had never let on that he knew to Luthor or anyone else. Dick wouldn't be able to pretend he didn't hate Luthor with every fiber of his being, best to make that clear now.

"If you ever try to build or buy anything in Gotham, I will use all of the resources at my disposal to stop you. Gotham doesn't need you, Luthor. Not now, not ever,"

"But it does need Batman," Luthor scoffed "and a boy trying to fill a man's shoes. I'm sure that's exactly what this place needs. More vigilantes,"

Dick wanted to kill him. More than anything he wanted to snap Luthor's neck. And it would be easy, so terribly easy. And he was so shattered inside that it couldn't possibly make him feel worse than he did. But one thing stood in his way.

A gentle hand on his arm, reminding him that he was still human, and still needed. Tim was looking up at him again, his eyes saying that he knew what Dick felt, that he understood. But this was not the way. Not here, not now, and most certainly not like this.

"I catch you doing anything to hurt my city, or its people," Dick growled "and I will kill you. Now go home, before I do something I'll regret,"

"This isn't over, boy," Luthor spat before trudging off through the snow.

"No," Dick said under his breath, frosting the air as he spoke "it's not,"


	2. Chapter 1 - The New Batman

_Gotham City Police Department_

_November 4__th__, 01:45 AM_

Commissioner Gordon wasn't surprised that he didn't hear Batman arrive. He was almost surprised that Batman had come at all. The clouded sky made the bat signal virtually invisible. But Batman had arrived, and his partner Robin was beside him.

Gordon started to speak, but then stopped, looking Batman over critically. He had never gotten a really good look at Batman, and still couldn't see him well as he clung to the shadows like a phantom. But there was something odd about him. His stance, his gaze... this was not the Batman Gordon had come to know over the years.

"Commissioner?," the voice was familiar, but not the one he knew to belong to Batman "I saw the signal. What is it?,"

"I uh..., Joker broke out. I thought you should know,"

Batman and Robin exchanged a look which could have meant anything. There was something different in that too. Gordon wasn't sure what, almost thought he imagined it. He knew this was a different Robin, there was no other explanation for that. He knew there had been at least two, maybe more. But it had never occurred to him that there might be more than one Batman.

He wondered what must have happened to the Batman he knew. He wondered also if he could trust this new bat as he had the old one. There was no telling what this stranger in a friend's clothing might do. All Gordon could do was hope that the things which mattered about Batman were present in this new creature as they had been in the old one.

He blinked, and both of them were gone. Inexplicably, he felt a thrill of fear for his beloved city. There was a strange bat in Gotham, and there was no telling what he would do.

* * *

"If Joker's loose, he may be going after Darren," Robin said.

"Doubtful," Batman replied evenly "Joker rarely plays the same game twice. Darren's just a pawn from an old game, of no significance to him,"

Robin wasn't sure he entirely believed that, but didn't argue. One didn't argue with Batman. He bit his lip at the thought. This wasn't the Batman he was used to. But then he realized it didn't really matter in this context. One did not argue with Nightwing either. Unless that one was Batman.

"You okay?," Batman asked, not so subtly reminding Robin of his recent fight for life in the form of a bullet wound in the stomach.

It was still fragile, still sore, and he probably should be in bed. But he was no more able to sit around idly than his brother. There had been a lengthy discussion, but Robin finally won out. Okay, so maybe you could argue with Batman. But that was at home, not in the field. It was different.

"Just don't expect any jumping jacks," Robin told him.

"Take it easy tonight," Batman warned "let me handle it if trouble comes our way,"

"I'll just tell the nice thugs to attack you and not me," Robin quipped.

Batman stared hard at him, trying in vain to look irritated with him. Robin half-smiled weakly and shrugged, not entirely promising to stay out of trouble, because there was no guarantee he could keep it and they both knew it.

"So now what do we do?,"

"Look for signs of Joker activity,"

* * *

_Batcave_

_05:02 AM_

Alfred came down the stairs to see if Batman and Robin were back home yet. They were. Dick, wearing the bat suit with the cowl pulled back, was sitting at the computer looking at streams of information running down the screen. Robin, curled up in the chair next to him, had gone to sleep without even removing his mask.

"Good morning, Master Dick. Can I get you anything?," Alfred asked.

Dick didn't appear to have heard him at first. Alfred looked past him at the computer screen. Dick had told him over the radio that the Joker had escaped. It seemed that there was still no sign of the mad clown. It was probably just as well.

"Just because Master Tim is temporarily out of school doesn't mean he should be up at all hours," Alfred said dryly "his wounds are still healing,"

"Tell that to him," Dick tossed over his shoulder, not looking up from what he was doing.

"I hate to be the one to remind you of this, but that duty now falls to you," Alfred commented.

"Technically the paperwork on that hasn't gone through yet," Dick said.

Alfred knew he was kidding, though he spoke in the same serious tone Bruce had always used. Whatever their similarities might be, Dick had always possessed a stronger sense of humor than Bruce.

"He's not just some child, Alfred," Dick added after a moment's consideration "he knows his limits. Or have you forgotten that, up until recently, he was more than just Batman's sidekick?. He's a member of the team, and has led a number of missions,"

"If you say so, sir," Alfred said noncommittally.

Dick looked as if he would say something sarcastic for a moment, then sighed and finally turned to face Alfred. The last few weeks had aged him. Alfred was familiar with the pain, having seen it firsthand in more than one child, beginning with Bruce. This was not even the first time grief had brought weight to Dick's features.

"Alright, Alfred," he sighed, too tired to be flippant any longer "out with it. What's eating you?,"

"I understand why you have taken up the mantel of Batman," Alfred replied cautiously "I even expected it to happen sooner or later. I understand also why you must take over the company in order to protect it. And I know you are well aware of your limits," he added "but I must confess to a certain fear that you will lose yourself. You do not have to replace Master Bruce in order to honor his memory and carry on his work,"

"Is that all?," Dick smiled a small, humorless smile "I know that. And I don't plan to lose myself, Alfred. But I do plan to be the best Batman, and businessman, I can be. I owe Bruce that much. And Tim too. He needs Batman now more than ever,"

"He also needs his brother," Alfred said pointedly.

Dick's smile froze as it was, and his dark eyes looked searchingly into Alfred's, looking for something as if he'd lost it and couldn't remember the last place he left it. Then he looked away towards the monitor. In its reflection, Alfred could see his eyes glistening with tears he refused to shed. Alfred remembered well the number of unshed tears he'd seen in Bruce's eyes.

He supposed it would never truly end. There was much sorrow in the world, and the majority of it always seemed to find its way to the doorsteps of the best and most noble people.

"Do you ever wish things were different, Alfred?," Dick asked suddenly, looking over his shoulder at Alfred "that you were someone else's butler, had never met us?,"

"Whatever would give you that idea, Master Dick?," Alfred asked.

"I don't know. It's just that, sometimes, it feels like all we're meant for is suffering. That everything we do just causes more pain. And, in the end, there's nothing but mourning at a grave,"

"And what of all the people whose lives you've saved?," Alfred asked "or your own life?. Do you feel you would have been better off had Master Bruce not taken you in?,"

"No," Dick replied quickly "but he might have, if he'd never met me. He never needed me, not really. He pretended he did sometimes, but he was always a loner,"

"Master Bruce would have done anything for you. He never once regretted his decision to bring you into this house and his life. He loved you. Never doubt that,"

Dick nodded, more to himself than to Alfred.

"I miss him," Dick whispered shakily.

He then did something he hadn't done since he was small. Rising abruptly, he swung around and hugged Alfred tightly. Alfred was momentarily startled, especially when he realized Dick was shaking like a leaf.

"As do I, Master Dick," he breathed, hugging the boy back "as do I,"

* * *

_Wayne Tower_

_09:30 AM_

Luthor had apparently decided to take Dick up on his recommendation that he make an appointment. Dick was tempted to keep Luthor waiting, or to just not show up at all. But disrespect had never been encouraged in him and there was nothing to be gained by making a full enemy of Luthor.

And so when Luthor arrived, Dick asked for him to be sent in. He did not offer a handshake or a drink, but he did offer Luthor a chair to sit in.

"Forgive my lack of beverages, Mr. Luthor," Dick said coolly "but as I'm sure you're well aware, I'm not old enough to drink yet,"

"I'm sure a little legality like that wouldn't stop someone with your... combative tendencies,"

"Indeed," Dick replied "if I was interested in breaking the law, I suppose very little could stand in my way. But I'm afraid none of my parents raised me to be a criminal,"

"That's very good. Too many young people today live in scorn of the law, don't you think?,"

Dick didn't comment, visually measuring Luthor, taking in his attire, his mannerisms. Knowing the details of his adversary, strengths and weaknesses alike, was the difference between life and death when he was wearing the mask, and he knew it was little different here. Only here it was success versus failure, which could easily be as disastrous as death.

"On the other hand, they say rules are made to be broken. Especially trivial, insignificant rules," Luthor purred, warming up to his task with zeal "and after all, alcohol has such interesting properties. Not the least of which is relief of stress,"

"I don't break the law for fun, Mr. Luthor," Dick said.

"Implying that you do sometimes bend the rules," Luthor's eyes narrowed as he saw an opening "how very interesting. And what rules do you break in order to get what you want?. Speeding on the highway?. Shoplifting?. Surely nothing of any great significance?,"

"I'm not like you, Mr. Luthor," Dick told him firmly "I don't break the law to get what I want,"

"Oh?. And what laws have I broken?," his eyes held a challenge, daring Dick to point out a broken law that he could prove.

"Oh I'm sure you haven't done anything significant," Dick chose the words precisely because of their insulting qualities.

He knew the best way to get Luthor off his back was to attack his ego.

"Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my drinking habits," Dick went on after his words had time to sink in fully.

Luthor's expression was carefully bland, but his eyes were aflame with barely controlled rage. Yet he continued to speak in the same mild manner as before.

"I understand your reluctance to sell Wayne Enterprises, if only because of your loyalty to Bruce Wayne," implying that Dick might care about the money as well was pretty low "but perhaps I could lend my... assistance. After all, I have a lot of experience in big business. I could help you get your bearings. After all, we wouldn't want to see you ruin your father's life's work, now would we?,"

Dick decided not to point out that Bruce was his adoptive father. That part of the statement was close enough to accurate to let slide. After all, for over ten years, Bruce had been his father. However, the rest of it needed some clearing up. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, Dick locked eyes with Luthor. He spoke slowly, and clearly, as if to a small child.

"My father taught me how to be two things. CEO of Wayne Enterprises was one of them. I will not have his work tarnished by your hands. We're done here. You can show yourself out,"


	3. Chapter 2 - Interview

_Wayne Tower_

_10:30 AM_

Dick was getting tired. It had been weeks since he'd had a decent night's sleep. Being Batman had taken its own toll, as had trying to run this damn company. He had been greatly relieved to have half an hour of peace between his meeting with Luthor and his interview with a couple of journalists from the Daily Planet.

A Wayne Enterprises employee had issued a formal statement for the press early on, but Dick would soon have to face them. Why not start now, with these two?. It didn't even occur to him that they would be Lois Lane and Clark Kent until it was announced that they had arrived.

Dick took a moment to gather himself. He hadn't spoken to Superman since that night. It had been Superman who went in and pulled him out of the building. If not for him, Dick would likely have died there with Bruce. He didn't blame Superman for what had happened, there was no way Superman could have known they wouldn't get out. After all, Bruce had always been able to take care of himself.

He took a deep breath and said "send them in,"

Rising from his chair, he came around the mahogany desk to shake their hands.

"Mr. Kent, Miss Lane. Please, have a seat," he smiled for them, that formal smile that could mean absolutely anything, or nothing at all "I'm afraid all I keep to drink is orange juice, but if you would like some...,"

"No thanks," Miss Lane said, and Clark echoed it.

Dick nodded graciously, something he had learned from years of closely observing every nuance of Bruce's movements. He had also learned how to let people know his opinion of them in a way that was socially acceptable and would not harm the reputation of his company.

Miss Lane seemed to be trying to decide exactly how to open the interview. The circumstances being what they were, there were so many things she could say that would be awkward. Maybe she had no interest in Dick's feelings, but she undoubtedly wanted him to remain cooperative throughout, which meant it would be unwise to offend him.

"Mr. Grayson," she began, apparently having decided this was the safest title to call him by "do you really intend to run...," she faltered "your guardian's company?,"

Dick smiled permissively, acknowledging the reporter's difficulty trying to choose words and terms which would be acceptable to him, to the paper and, most important, to the readers of said paper.

"A father can teach his son only that which he knows," Dick explained "Bruce Wayne knew the business world, the ins and outs of socializing with the rich and famous. He passed this knowledge on to me and I fully intend to use all the tools he gave me to continue his work,"

The double meaning was not lost on Clark, who nodded almost approvingly without Miss Lane noticing that he did so. Dick tilted his head so fractionally that only Clark noticed the acknowledgment.

"Do you intend to make any big changes in the coming year?," Miss Lane asked.

"Not in the way you may be thinking," Dick replied "this company was built for the people of Gotham. It's never been about the money or power. It's always been about helping people, and doing what we can to make the world a better place. I see no reason to change that,"

"Rumor has it that Lex Luthor tried to buy Wayne Enterprises from Bruce Wayne before his...," she hesitated to say it, so Dick did what he could to put her at ease.

"His death. It's alright, you can say it, I won't break," he smiled gently, then went on "Bruce Wayne refused to sell to Lex Luthor, and I see no reason to change that decision. Luthorcorp and Wayne Enterprises have nothing to do with one another, and I can say with some certainty that it will remain that way for as long as I'm in charge,"

His eyes flitted to lock with Clark's for a moment. Clark had already known the answer to that question and, indeed, most of the others. Dick had made his position pretty clear to the Justice League and the team when he took up the mantel of Batman.

Still, he thought he detected the faintest traces of relief in Clark's eyes. For Dick, Luthor was just another enemy, but to Clark, he was _the_ enemy.

"Forgive me if you find this offensive," Miss Lane said "but you seem very... young to be taking on this kind of responsibility. Will anyone be helping you run the company?,"

"Bruce Wayne chose his employees carefully to ensure that each was qualified for the job they were given. That said, no. Timothy Drake and myself were the sole heirs and, until he comes of age, I will be taking care of Tim's assets, including his portion of the company,"

Miss Lane looked at Dick in the same measuring way he had earlier examined Luthor. Only in her eyes was a question. Whether or not Dick was an adversary. Was there a greater truth he was trying to conceal from her, or was he as open as he appeared?.

Dick took the moment to measure her as well. Clark he already knew well, but Miss Lane was a stranger to him, though they'd seen one another from a distance on many occasions. He didn't feel threatened by her, though he supposed this was probably due to his association with her partner.

But there was a warmth in her eyes which was unusual in reporters. An indefinable element of humanity which was so often absent that it was quite frankly shocking to be seen at all. She was a beautiful woman also, more than just her appearance. Her bearing and the sound of her voice as well. In her eyes there was indication of razor sharp wit and the aggressive instincts of the reporter, but there was also a kindness there, buried underneath all that modern cynicism.

He liked this woman already, and could easily see why Clark was so drawn to her. She was of the right class to survive a relationship with a hero, strong enough to keep the secret and deal with all the trials and suffering that came of being with someone who was in constant danger, but with the necessary softness to understand and accept the weaknesses of her man. It was very unusual to see in someone who was not also a masked hero themselves.

"If I may ask, what are your feelings about the kids who...," again she faltered.

Such human concern for his feelings. It was possible that she was being manipulative, trying to get answers from him that he might not otherwise give. But it didn't bother him and he preferred to think of her as caring, though he could see a vicious streak in her as well.

"I'd like to be angrier with them than I am," Dick said truthfully "what they did was wrong, and it's a miracle more people weren't hurt. But they didn't intend for anyone to die,"

"So you don't think they should be punished for anything other than the bombing itself?,"

"It's not my job to play judge and jury, Miss Lane," Dick told her "I have other things to worry about besides their guilt or innocence. That's entirely up to a court of law,"

"There are a number of people who claim you pulled them out of the building as it was collapsing," Miss Lane decided to change tactics "you're being called a hero,"

"I just did what I thought was right at the time, like Bruce always taught me," Dick shrugged.

The matter of rescuing people was one he'd nearly forgotten. Wearing the mask, he'd saved many more people from much worse danger. And the building hadn't actually begun to collapse until everyone was out anyway, so he hadn't even really 'rescued' anyone.

There was a pause, this one Dick brought an end to.

"There's something you've wanted to ask ever since you walked in," Dick said matter-of-factly "and I doubt it has anything to do with the events surrounding Bruce Wayne's death, or the future of Wayne Enterprises. Go ahead and ask,"

Miss Lane looked taken aback, and it took her a moment to compose herself for the next question.

"Are you angry with Superman?," she asked hesitantly "after all, he managed to rescue Lex Luthor as well as yourself, but not your guardian,"

_Awkward_, Dick thought. Having to give his opinion on Superman in front of the man of steel himself.

"If he could have saved Bruce," Dick said, doing his best to check the emotions mounting within him "I'm sure he would have. I'm no more angry with him than I am with myself about it,"

Meaning _Yes, I'm a bit angry, but it's irrational and will go away once my head clears. I hope_.

* * *

Lois Lane had asked several more questions before she and Clark Kent departed, much to Dick's relief. He could feel himself shaking apart, losing control. He was badly in need of rest, but knew he wouldn't get it until his insides had finished untying themselves.

There would be no rest for him so long as he was tormented in his dreams by images of Bruce. Dick leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, getting as much rest as he could before his next task. He knew that he would soon be leaving most of the publicity to the people hired to manage such things, but these initial stages were critical.

All too easily he could turn into a media sensation 'circus boy inherits Wayne billions!'. And then the company's reputation went right down the drain. No good, he had to be personally involved, at least until media interest died down. He had to make a target of himself, showing up at social functions and behaving in a way fitting the heir to Wayne Enterprises.

He put his elbows on the desk and rested his head on his palms. He had a headache, and was beginning to feel slightly insane from all the smiling he'd been doing. Right now, he'd rather be fighting a hundred different villains than sitting in this office like some television show host. 'And now a round of applause for our next guest...'. Faking confidence he did not feel, praying he was saying the right things, hoping his facade didn't slip and show how very vulnerable he was. The vultures were circling, they smelled the blood of the wounded and it drew them like a magnet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but that brought no more relief than anything else had so far. Right about now he was wishing that he did drink. He could use a stiff drink at the moment.

"You're looking a bit haggard," the voice behind him didn't surprise Dick.

After all, the window was open. He didn't turn to look at Superman, who had undoubtedly found some excuse to leave Miss Lane alone for a few minutes.

"Come to tell me I'm taking too much on?," Dick asked, swinging around to face his visitor "to imply that I'm not up to the challenge?. Or that I should trust someone enough to take on some of the burden?. You should save your breath because about a hundred people have already said those things. They've also told me I'll be fine, and that the future isn't so scary, and several other comforting cliches,"

"Actually, I came to apologize," Superman said.

Dick shook his head.

"You couldn't have known," he said, but his voice cracked, betraying the emotions he'd been trying so hard to bury "you thought Bruce could take care of himself. I thought the same thing. We were both wrong, and now he's dead and there's nothing for it but to keep going,"

"You're not alone, you know. If you need anything, all you have to do is call,"

"Everyone is alone in the end, Clark," Dick said quietly "you of all people should know that,"


	4. Chapter 3 - Breaking Point

_Wayne Manor_

_08:00 PM_

Dick knew he was reaching the end of his rope. Maybe tonight Batman would stay home. But he couldn't remember a time when Bruce had stayed home at night. Nor could he remember a single night where absolutely nothing had happened. And the Joker was still out there.

He stumbled into the living room and turned on the news in case Joker had shown up somewhere obvious. It seemed unlikely. It usually took Joker a little while to put a scheme together. But it seemed equally unlikely that he would be able to locate the Joker before he started doing something to attract attention.

"I kept dinner warm for you, Master Dick," Alfred said coming into the room.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry right now. Maybe later," Dick knew it was stupid not to eat.

Hunger was as bad as fatigue. It could ruin your judgment and throw off your reflexes. Not to mention making you weak and destroying your focus. But the very idea of food seemed repellant at the moment. He'd only eaten once a day since Bruce's death, and even then he'd barely picked at whatever it was he'd been served. He knew it would come back and bite him, already was. But he really, really didn't want to eat right now.

"Master Tim said the same thing earlier," Alfred observed mildly "I was hoping that perhaps, if you were to eat, it might encourage him to do so as well,"

Dick thought for a moment about whether he could stomach anything at all. Deciding that his stomach was too tense to admit food, he shook his head.

"I'm really not hungry, Alfred. I'm afraid you'll have to eat by yourself tonight,"

"Very well," Alfred sighed, deflating visibly.

About fifteen minutes later, Tim came downstairs and curled himself up on the couch. Dick didn't look up from the screen, staring intensely at the anchor woman who was prattling on about things he cared nothing about.

"You think Joker's making the news?," Tim guessed.

Dick didn't answer him. A minute or two later the question was answered as a report about a number of bank robberies came in.

"A bit common for Joker, isn't it?," Tim asked.

They both got up and went down to the batcave.

"Perhaps," Dick agreed "but criminals are criminals. Maybe tonight isn't Joker's night, but we'll get him soon enough,"

* * *

Dan Stafford was nervous. This heist was taking way too long. Worriedly, he searched the skies and rooftops. He knew who was coming. And he knew that he did not report to the police commissioner.

Assuming it was really a man. Stafford had never seen The Bat before, but there were those who said that he wasn't human.

"Hurry up!," He growled to himself.

He was just the driver, unable to see the others or tell them to hurry. He broke into nervous sweats and tightly gripped the steering wheel. That was it!. Something must have gone wrong. He put the car in gear. There was only one reason it would be taking this long.

The car squealed in protest, but started moving. Less than a second later, Stafford heard a loud thud. It was over, and he knew it. But he kept driving, swerving the car side to side. Then, with a soft 'whoosh' sound, Stafford's vision was blocked. Something was covering the windshield. He couldn't see!. With a cry, he hit the breaks. The instant the car stopped, Stafford was roughly yanked out of it through the window. He found himself face to face with Robin, The Batman's little bird.

Stafford swung at Robin's head, but The Bird ducked fast as lightning, not letting go of Stafford's shirt. A few hits from Robin and Stafford gave up the fight, allowing The Bird to drop him on the steps of the bank with his buddies.

Batman was there, glowering over Stafford's terrified friends. Robin dumped Stafford and then joined Batman. Stafford turned to spit blood out of his mouth. When he looked back, they were gone like shadows in the night. As if they had never been.

* * *

"Whoa, take it easy. Hold on," Robin eased Batman into a sitting position.

He wasn't sure what had gone wrong with his brother, but something obviously had. Less than halfway through the fight, Robin had virtually taken over. They'd barely made it to a rooftop before the police arrived to take away the bank robbers below.

Batman was breathing shallowly, and shaking badly. He looked sick. Robin knelt beside him, overwhelmed with concern, and barely able to think. It didn't help any when his brother began to retch, though apparently there was nothing in his stomach to rid himself of.

"I'll be okay," he said after several minutes "I just need sleep is all,"

Robin didn't really believe that, but was unable to say as much. He wanted to believe it was just the stress his brother had been under that was causing this. That it would go away if he just took it easy for awhile. That would be nice. But life was rarely so simple as that.

"Come on, let's get you home," Robin threw Batman's arm around his shoulder.

Unsteadily, Batman got to his feet, leaning heavily on Robin. It was snowing again. The city was blanketed by glistening white powder, which cast a bright glow on an otherwise dark world. Robin remembered liking snow as a child, but now he found it to be revealing. It was an unnatural light in his world of darkness, which was always threatening to expose him.

And now that Batman was sick, he felt more vulnerable than ever. Anyone could come along, see them, and pick them off. It didn't help any that half-carrying Batman was making his stomach hurt. His wound was far from finished healing, and this was the last thing he needed.

But he bit his lip and kept going, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

* * *

_Batcave_

Robin helped Batman into a chair, and gratefully sank down into a chair of his own with a relieved sigh. The pain in his gut was worse, but he tried to ignore it. Alfred came down when Tim called him, and helped Dick up to bed. Tim stayed right where he was.

He took slow, shallow breaths, trying to relax and dull the pain in his abdomen. It stayed just as bad, and so he eventually lay down on his side on the floor. It seemed like his whole world was coming apart at the seams and had been for a long time. As if life itself wanted him to collapse in on himself.

It had been one thing after another since he didn't even know when. It seemed like a long time, coming to a crashing, devastating end with the death of Bruce. He knew it probably wasn't that bad, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him if Dick should die too?. Would he have to try and become Batman?. That seemed an impossible feat to him. And he had no idea what to do with Wayne Enterprises. He knew Alfred would probably take care of him, but for how much longer?. How much longer until life decided to take him away too?.

The cold hard floor was a comfort. Something solid in this unstable nightmare he'd been thrust into. It eased the pain in his stomach somewhat and he started to relax. Panicking wouldn't get him anywhere. Slowly he sat up and dragged himself into a chair.

Pulling his hand away from his stomach, he realized there was blood on it. The wound had reopened.

"Damn," he said aloud.

"What is it, Master Tim?," Alfred had appeared at the head of the stairs without his noticing.

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't seem to find his voice and so merely shrugged helplessly. Coming down the stairs, Alfred took in the problem immediately.

"It would appear that you could use some fresh bandages," Alfred observed mildly.

His calm demeanor felt like a Godsend. He was matter-of-fact and efficient, bringing a sense of order to the chaos of life at present.

* * *

_Wayne Manor_

_11:30 PM_

Tim was curled up in an armchair, sipping at some chicken broth and dazedly staring into the flickering fireplace, his thoughts a million miles away from reality, which at the moment was simply too trying to deal with.

Alfred was sitting in another armchair reading, making his comforting presence felt without being intrusive or demanding. Tim felt safe here, swallowed up in the giant overstuffed chair, gazing into the heart of the fire, warm and cozy under a thick, soft blanket, beginning to feel sleepy under the watchful eye of Alfred. Alfred had called a doctor to come out and take a look at Dick. The doctor reported that Dick was suffering from exhaustion and emotional stress but had not, so far as he could tell, been poisoned or anything like that.

Knowing this made Tim feel better. The assurance that he was not about to lose his adopted brother like he'd lost his adopted father took tremendous weight from his heart.

He was roused from his wandering thoughts by foot falls on the stairs. Dick appeared around the corner and wordlessly lay down on the couch. A blanket was folded across the back of it and he pulled it over himself. In silence he joined Tim in watching the flickering flames.

It was a moment Tim wished could last forever.

* * *

_November 5__th__, 07:30 AM_

Dick jerked awake from a nightmare, almost falling off the couch as he did so but righting himself just in time. He lay panting for a few minutes until he got his bearings in the real world. Sitting up, he felt an uncomfortable ache in his stomach from throwing up the day before, and swallowing brought a reminder of the soreness in his throat.

He looked over at the armchair and saw that Tim was curled into a tight ball and sleeping as peacefully as was possible under the circumstances. Dick started to get up, but his legs felt rubbery and weak so he instead turned the television on with the sound muted so as not to disturb Tim.

He felt more rested than he had in weeks, but still unsteady somehow. Something was pecking at the back of his brain, a thought that wasn't quite formed enough to be any sort of coherent. A nagging suspicion that had no place in reality, and no scrap of logic to support it. He wasn't sure what it was just yet, but it had something to do with Luthor, the explosion, and the death of Bruce.

He shook his head to clear it, but instead brought back the migraine he'd begun to suffer from the night before. It didn't bring dizziness or nausea this time, which was a mercy, but that was its only kindness. It made reading the crawl on the news difficult and uncomfortable.

Alfred entered the room and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Dick pointed to where Tim was sleeping. He got up to speak with Alfred in another room, and was glad that this time his legs supported his weight.

"I took the liberty of rescheduling today's appointments, clearing your schedule for some much needed rest," Alfred said quietly.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Really,"

"Which is why Master Tim had to carry you home last night, reopening his wound in the process," Alfred said flatly, an irritated look in his eyes.

Dick blinked. He didn't remember much about what had happened after he started to crash. Had Tim really dragged him home?. All he got were scattered flashes, like memories of a bad dream. A wave of dizziness passed over him and he sat down on one of the dining room chairs abruptly. He couldn't remember a time he'd felt so weak. Just like him to give out when he needed to be at his strongest. He rested his arms on the table, and laid his forehead on his arms.

"You were right to reschedule," he admitted quietly.

Alfred nodded, but said nothing. He hated seeing Dick like this, but it had been a downward spiral since Bruce's death. The crash had been inevitable. Not sleeping, refusing to eat, pushing himself hard both day and night, he was bound to give out sooner or later.

"Will you be eating breakfast this morning, or shall I reschedule that as well?,"

Dick raised his head and smiled weakly. Though he didn't speak of it, the gratitude which shone in his eyes was plain enough for Alfred.

"I'll wait for Tim, if you don't mind," Dick replied.

"Very good, sir," Alfred said.

Alfred left to attend to whatever it was he had to attend to, but Dick remained where he was. He felt like, if he just sat still long enough, the answer to his question would come. Even though he wasn't sure what his question was just yet.

It also felt good not to have anywhere to be, or any reason to move. He wondered if he might just go back to sleep if he held still long enough.

_Why were you there?._

The thought struck so suddenly that he raised his head and looked around. He felt almost like someone else had asked the question. He wasn't sure what it meant yet, his thoughts felt disjointed and jumbled, but there was something there.

_Why were you standing there, Bruce?. Why didn't you move?._

Dick blinked and his mind seemed to clear for the first time in weeks. Why had Bruce just stood there as the building caved in?. Why hadn't he gotten out?. Or at least responded when Dick called out his name?. Why had he just stood there and allowed the falling beams to crush him?.

Dick had asked the question miserably since it had happened, but now he thought about it clearly and it became more than a tortured question about a lost loved one. It was real, there was weight to it, as though it had relevance. It mattered.

Only one answer came to mind: someone had murdered him.

Not in an obvious way, of course. Perhaps drugs to slow down his reaction time, or something. There was a reason Bruce was dead, and it wasn't because of some foolish mistake on his part. Under normal circumstances, Bruce would have gotten out. He would have been able to dodge that beam. But he hadn't even been trying.

_Why didn't you try?!._

The question rang out like an accusation. Why was Bruce dead?. By all rights he should still be alive.

But where could Dick begin in trying to prove Bruce's murder?. There were no tapes to analyze, the blown up building had already been rebuilt courtesy of Luthor's money. Bruce's body seemed the only clue other than the bombers who were now in prison.

Perhaps it was desperation, the need to believe that Bruce had died for some reason. Dick decided not to share his theory with Tim. He debated sharing it with Alfred, and decided he could not do otherwise. He had never kept secrets from Alfred. In fact, Alfred was probably the only person in the world he trusted so completely that he could speak openly about the biggest secrets in his life. More than his team, more even than Kaldur or Bruce himself.

Maybe Alfred would think he was crazy. But at least Alfred wouldn't try to stop him. As Dick reached this conclusion, Alfred returned to the dining room to announce that Tim had woken up and was indeed interested in eating. Alfred was going to make some soup, as that seemed the most sensible thing to feed the ailing boys.

"Alfred, I think Bruce was murdered," Dick said without pretext "I want to find out why,"

Alfred, not missing a beat replied "Very well, sir. And will you be doing that before or after breakfast?,"


	5. Chapter 4 - Are You Sure?

_Gotham City Police Department_

_09:30 PM_

Commissioner Gordon couldn't believe that he'd been talked into this not by Batman, but by this stranger in The Bat's costume. But though he was different from Batman in many ways, this new creature had the same intensity, the same way of speaking that gave confidence but also inspired fear.

For the new Batman, he had brought Quincy and Taylor Decker from prison specifically so Batman could converse with them on the roof. Batman was alone this time, something Gordon was used to. Robin was often his constant companion for years before suddenly disappearing from his side almost entirely, only to be replaced by a new Robin.

Sometimes he wondered where those other Robins went. It occurred to him to wonder if this might not be a former Robin who was just now taking the place of Batman. It made sense, in the twisted way that anything about Batman made sense.

For long unsettling minutes Batman gazed at the two teenagers. In his eyes there flashed immeasurable anger, clearly thought out acts of violence, a fury which was both incomprehensible to Gordon but also undeniable. He wondered what Batman's special interest was.

"Who hired you?," he growled finally, leveling his gaze on Quincy Decker, the older of the boys.

"Hired us?. Man, we weren't hired by nobody,"

Batman looked him up and down, then grabbed him by the shirt collar and raised him almost a foot off the ground, holding the now flailing teenager over his head.

"I won't ask again!," a blaze of rage burned in Batman's eyes, which seemed somehow disproportionate to the criminal he was dealing with.

"Nobody, man!," Taylor piped up "put him down. Come on,"

Batman locked eyes on Taylor, who withered before him, smart enough to recognize the danger he was in. Gordon wanted to intervene, but how did one go about interrupting Batman?.

"A good man is dead because of what you did," Batman snarled at the boy he held aloft "that man didn't deserve to die. And you murdered him. Do you understand?,"

He threw the first boy down, started to advance on the other, then halted, eyes narrowed. He looked to be struggling inwardly. Gordon suddenly got the distinct impression that he wanted to kill these boys.

"Only because he was too slow to get out of the building," Quincy said, inching backwards.

It was the absolute wrong thing to say. In the space of a heartbeat, Batman had lifted him up and swung him over the side of the building. He seemed to be fighting the impulse to drop the boy.

"Hey!. You don't kill people!," Quincy squealed "Batman doesn't kill people,"

Batman brought Quincy's face towards his own.

"I'm not the Batman you once knew. And I don't play by the old rules anymore,"

Before he threw the boy over the side, a new voice made itself heard.

"Batman," Turning, Gordon saw Robin perched on the corner of the building, his cape caught in the rough winter wind and flapping as if trying to drag him off.

The one word changed everything. Batman threw Quincy down on the roof.

"Get them away from me before I kill them," he told Gordon, though his eyes were locked on Robin's.

Much relieved, Gordon removed the two from the rooftop and decided never to let this new Batman gain access to prisoners like that again.

Robin and Batman stood staring at one another for a long moment. Batman felt the familiar exchange of information he always had with his old mentor, but never had with Robin. Like they were carrying on an entire conversation without speaking a word. No superpowers, no special mind link, just a deep understanding of what made the other tick.

"Did Alfred tell you?," Batman asked finally.

"No. I figured it out on my own," it didn't surprise Batman "I want to help. I loved Bruce as much as you did, and I don't believe for a minute his death was accidental,"

"Why didn't you say anything?," Batman asked.

"You're Batman. I figured you already knew and would bring me in on it when the time was right," Robin grinned somewhat impishly and Batman shook his head.

"You really are a boy wonder, you know that?,"

"Don't call me that," Robin grumbled, but it was good-natured "so where do we go from here?,"

"We only have one other lead," Batman said slowly.

There was unease in Robin's gaze as he looked at Batman, then nodded slowly.

"But I have another job for you," Batman added "I want the truth from those two,"

"How am I supposed to do that?. They're going back to prison, where they belong," Robin said.

"Stone walls do not a prison make," Batman replied.

It was a popular quote that more than one villain had spoken. In this context, Robin got the message. One of the reasons Batman and his sidekicks were so successful wasn't their ability to evade capture entirely, but to escape once captured. Breaking in would hardly be different from breaking out.

Robin assumed, quite wrongly, that Batman was trying to protect him from the uncomfortable task of digging up his father's remains, especially since they were so recently buried.

The truth was that Batman didn't trust himself not to kill the bombers if he got another chance, but had every confidence that Robin would restrain himself from doing the same. Robin did not have in his soul the same level of darkness as his predecessor, nor did he have the experiences of Nightwing to drive him further into his own shadows.

* * *

Robin followed the prison van closely, staying out of sight and alert for possible danger. If whoever hired these thugs knew Batman was after the truth, they were dead men unless Robin could thwart the attempt. Not that Robin really wanted to protect them.

He had seen the anger in his own heart reflected in the eyes of Batman up on the roof. But he still needed them. They were just the conduit. The source was the one who truly deserved to pay. Of course, Robin knew that if he were rational at the moment, he would be more concerned about the why and to what end. It should concern him what the endgame was supposed to be. Stopping the bad guys from doing what they were planning to do was what the job was all about. But he couldn't think that way. All he could think was that Bruce was dead, murdered and whoever did it should pay.

He had only moderate difficulty slipping past the guards. Crawling into an air vent, Robin prepared to wait for the place to settle down for the night. For one thing he didn't want to get caught. For another, he wanted to strike the most fear into the criminals as possible. Coming at them in the dark while they were trying to sleep seemed like the most effective strategy.

While he was waiting, he tried to get his emotions under control. He knew that, with the arsenal at his disposal, one slip and he'd have killed them almost by accident. He had been trained from the beginning how to fight without killing, but he had the tools and training to do so if he chose. It was a line he didn't want to cross, if only because Bruce wouldn't have wanted that.

Once things were quiet, Robin slipped down into a hallway and picked the lock of the Decker boys' cell. They were both snoring on their individual cots, and Robin stood still for a moment, thinking about exactly how he would play this. Once it started, there would be no time for second thoughts. He had to get the information and get gone and would have maybe a minute to do it in if he was lucky.

He grabbed Quincy by the collar and yanked him to his feet, flinging him against the nearest wall. In the same motion, he caught Taylor and threw him against his brother. Drawing his staff across their throats, he pinned them against the wall, choking them so they were unable to cry out.

They kicked and struggled, but their efforts were soon stilled. Robin eased up before they passed out, knowing he still needed information out of them. No sound of the struggle had escaped the cell walls.

"Your employer!," Robin snarled, allowing all his anguish and fury to collect in his voice "I want a name and I want it now,"

"He'll kill us," Quincy protested "the Bat didn't so you sure as hell won't,"

"How confident are you about that?," Robin activated the electrical current of his staff, locking eyes with Quincy, the obvious leader of the two "how do you know what I'll do without Batman looking over my shoulder?,"

Fury tore through him and the temptation to snap both their necks was almost too strong. He continued speaking, the only vent he had for his rage.

"Don't you ever wonder what sort of person you'd have to be to be the sidekick of Batman?. Maybe a little crazy, a bit unstable. Maybe a bit psychotic. Also, have you ever noticed the similarities between me and Joker?. Bright colors, crazy grin, a quip after every beat down?. Who do you think I'm more like?. Did you know Joker kills people?. And do you have any idea, at all, of how very much I hate you two?. How sure are you I won't kill you?. How sure, how sure!,"

He pressed harder on their necks, watching their eyes bulge both with fear and lack of oxygen. Giving them enough air to breathe, he finally got the answer he was looking for, as the sound of running footsteps told him the guards were aware of his presence.

"Luthor. It was Luthor,"

"Luthor hired you to blow up his own building?," Robin scoffed "you expect me to believe that?,"

"He said it was for the insurance. We thought 'what the hay, why not?', you know?,"

"What about Wayne?,"

"What about him?," Quincy asked "he wasn't part of the deal. Nobody was supposed to be hurt,"

Robin was out of time, and had the only answer he needed. Guards arrived at the cell door, but he threw down a handful of smoke pellets and jumped over them, disappearing into the vents.

He made his way to the roof, then used his grappler to get back to the ground.

He was panting and shaking with rage. He was back to square one, that Bruce had died for no reason. But that he could not believe. What would Luthor need with insurance money?. He wasn't about to go broke. No, he had wanted Bruce dead. Not Batman, Bruce Wayne. But why?. And how had he accomplished it?.

Cold wind blasted through the trees and Robin shivered. There was something screwy about the whole thing, it was all wrong, he could feel it in the air.

Before he could finally make the last leap to understanding, something hit him in the back of the head. He went down hard. He tried to get right back up, but someone kicked him in the side and he gasped with pain. He was rolled onto his back. Swimming vision and darkness not withstanding, he saw the face of his attacker just before he blacked out.

"Batsy, Joker's home!," Joker screamed into the night as if he thought Batman was lurking in the shadows, then he began to giggle.

He slung the unconscious Robin over his shoulder and marched off into the dark.

* * *

_Batcave_

_11:00 PM_

Batman didn't know what he expected to find on the body. He decided the only course of action open to him was to run every test he could think of. All he could do was ask over and over why Bruce hadn't gotten out of the way. Why had he stood there and watched as the building collapsed around him?. Was there a drug which could account for it?.

A text message from Robin popped up on the the computer screen. Moments later, it was followed by another one. He had expected to hear from Robin, but text messages had never been in their style. More to the point, he couldn't think why Robin would send two, one right after the other.

Opening the first put the pieces of the mystery in a whole new light. The message contained but one word and that word was "Luthor". It could potentially mean a lot of things, but the obvious explanation, and the most likely, was that Luthor was behind the explosion that killed Bruce.

The second message made a chill run down Batman's spine. It gave a time and place, and was accompanied by an attached photograph. Joker had Robin. For a split second, Batman wondered if Joker and Luthor were working together, but he dismissed the possibility almost as soon as he thought of it. Joker wasn't a very good team player and had none of the "class" of Luthor.

He didn't have time to think about Luthor right now. He had a meeting with the Joker in less than half an hour. Thinking fast, he figured out a way to keep the project moving forward even though he needed to focus on the Joker. It didn't enter his thoughts that he might not come back.

He sent a message to the Watchtower addressed to Superman, with all he'd found so far. In the seconds since learning Luthor was involved, Batman had formulated a theory, a fantastic and unreasonable one, but one he couldn't ignore. He sent that too. Luthor was Superman's villain and Metropolis was his home. Batman had no business there, no place there, as much as he wanted a piece of Luthor's hide himself.

"Something wrong, sir?," Alfred seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and immediately took in the look on Batman's face.

"Joker's got Robin," he said, getting up and crossing from the desk to pick up his utility belt "I'm going after him,"

"And the other project?,"

"On hold until I get back," he paused and looked from the body to the computer "I do have some tests running. Let me know if they turn up anything interesting,"

"Of course. Will that be all?,"

Batman and Alfred looked at each other in silence for a long moment. The familiar sensation of somehow knowing what the other was thinking crept over Batman. His family, this family, had never needed words. And they didn't now, but he said them anyway.

"I'll bring him back, Alfred. I won't lose another member of this family,"

"And the Joker?,"

"Better pray he hasn't hurt Robin," Batman replied "for his sake,"


	6. Chapter 5 - Dangerous

_Harvey's Happytime Warehouse_

_11:29 PM_

"I'm here, Joker. What do you want?," Batman saw no reason to hide in the shadows, or attempt to sneak up on the Joker.

He knew Joker would have set up cameras all around the abandoned warehouse, not to mention traps. He had no plans to fall into any of them. And he had no time for Joker's games.

"Who are you?," Joker's disappointment was plain in his voice.

It took Batman a moment to pinpoint his location because of the echoing in the virtually empty building. He found Joker on a catwalk, about twenty feet above him.

"You're not Batman," Joker was whining now.

"I am today," Batman retorted.

"But you're not the bat I'm after. This just ruins it. It ruins everything," Joker frowned deeply.

"Too bad for you, because I'm the only bat you've got,"

"But you're... you're... humph!. No!. I won't have anything to do with you. You can tell the real Batman that I won't play his game and this round will cost the bird his life!,"

"Do not," Batman snarled, voice low "touch him,"

"Or what?," Joker scoffed "You'll kill me back?. Batman doesn't kill, and we both know it,"

His grin vanished a moment later when he looked down and realized Batman had disappeared. Before he had time to fully register this, a hand caught him by the back of the neck and shoved him forward. His ribs cracked against the railing and he found himself staring down at the concrete floor.

"As you so eloquently pointed out," Batman was so close that Joker could feel the bat's breath on his neck "I'm not the Batman you know. And you caught me on a bad night. Now where is Robin?,"

Joker tried to laugh, but his fear prevented him from making anything other than a small gagging noise. Either that or how tightly his tie had been drawn around his throat.

"You could probably survive this fall, but not if you land on your head," Batman whispered "the impact would snap your neck like a twig, and the concrete would crack your head like a coconut,"

"A real nature lover, aren't you?," Joker croaked "alright!. Alright, just let me up. I'll talk,"

"Sing like a canary," Batman replied "and maybe I won't drop you on principal,"

* * *

_Streets of Gotham_

_November 6__th__, 12:03 AM_

"I can't believe I let him get the drop on me," Robin was sitting in the passenger seat, rubbing his neck to try and work some of the soreness out of it.

It was a futile effort as the pain was actually being caused by the ache in his head which was a direct result of a crowbar having made violent contact with the back of his skull. He was mostly unhurt otherwise, though it was some miracle that his wound had not yet again been reopened.

"That's what happens when you let yourself be consumed by something," Batman replied "Obsession makes you forget your surroundings,"

"Tell me about it," Robin sighed unhappily "I had completely forgotten Joker was even loose,"

Batman shook his head. He remembered times when he'd done the same thing, and survived only because of sheer luck and his mentor coming to his rescue.

"Joker didn't look so good. What did you do to him anyway?," Robin asked.

They'd dropped Joker off at Arkham on the way home.

"Broke a few of his ribs," Batman said indifferently "possibly dislocated his shoulder,"

"That would explain it," Robin nodded thoughtfully "nothing like a little pain to take the color out of your cheeks,"

Batman looked over at Robin sharply, then realized his brother was making a joke. He decided to play the straight man and pretend he didn't understand it.

"Joker doesn't have any color in his cheeks,"

"Not anymore, you mean," Robin grinned.

Batman shook his head, trying to conceal his own amusement. Something about intense danger and risk made all jokes seem funnier than they actually were to him.

"So what about Luthor?," Robin was suddenly completely serious.

"I called Superman and he's dealing with it from that angle. Dick Grayson has another meeting with the man in the morning and so I, for one, intend to go home and get some sleep,"

"Dropping it just like that?,"

"Unless you can think of a good reason not to. There's nothing more to be done tonight. I'm running some tests on... the body. I've given Superman all available information so it's up to him to find out anything else. He'll let us know, I'm sure,"

Robin worked his jaw, chewing on something he didn't quite know how to say. Batman looked over at him. He could see plain in Robin's face the desire to kill Luthor, just as he felt it in his own heart. But, despite what he'd been telling all the criminals, Batman didn't kill people. And he certainly wasn't about to let Robin do it either.

"Patience, Robin," he said after a long moment "Luthor will get exactly what he deserves someday,"

"Not soon enough for me," Robin growled.

"If you allow that rage to consume you, Luthor and the others, the ones we work so hard to stop, will have won their greatest victory," Batman told him.

Robin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I know. But I can't help how I feel,"

"That's a television cliché if I've ever heard one," Batman informed him "your feelings don't own you, Robin. That darkness inside cannot come out if you don't let it. Evil people are evil because they let themselves become that way. It's not an accident, it's not because they couldn't help it. It's because they allowed themselves to be lost in the hate, the fear and the greed. They made themselves into monsters,"

Robin didn't know how to answer that, and so fell silent. Batman only hoped he'd said the right words, and that he'd said enough.

Once back home, they related the night's events to Alfred, who went and got an ice bag for Tim's head. Tim took it gratefully and gingerly applied it to the lump, wincing when it made contact.

"It's a wonder he didn't split your skull," Dick commented.

"You think I'm not grateful for that?," Tim asked "I like having my brain in one piece, thanks,"

"There's a lot of luck involved in this game," Dick told him "the skill comes into play when the luck runs out,"

"I'll remember that next time someone hits me in the head," Tim groaned "or at least I'll try to, through the ringing in my ears,"

"Now you'll remember to be more alert next time," Dick replied without sympathy "now I'm going to bed, and I suggest you do the same,"

"Sure, as soon as these bells stop ringing," Tim retorted "not to mention the stars in front of my eyes,"

* * *

_06:08 AM_

Getting to sleep had been difficult, but that was only half the battle. Staying asleep was almost more trouble than it was worth. When he was asleep, Dick was plagued by nightmares. When he was awake, he was tormented by doubt and haunted by memory.

When he looked at the clock and realized it was just after six, he decided to give it up for the night. He'd evidently had all the sleep he was going to get tonight. He fell almost automatically into a series of stretching exercises, his mind already miles ahead, rushing to the time when he and Luthor would be meeting face to face again.

But this time would be different because this time he knew Luthor had something to do with what happened to Bruce. He knew the man was not only scum, but responsible for the hell he'd been put through the last few weeks. The only thing was, he wasn't supposed to know any of that. Even if Luthor discovered Robin's visit to the Decker brothers, there was no connection between him and Dick Grayson. Dick wondered if he would be able to conceal his rage.

Forget that. Would he be able to keep himself from wringing Luthor's vile neck?.

He remembered what he'd told Tim the night before. He knew it was true, and believed every word of it. If he lost control now, it would be because he allowed it to happen. There would be no one to blame but himself. But that didn't make him feel any more in control. And it certainly didn't make him feel any better.

He got dressed and went downstairs, feeling the silence of the house around him. Alfred probably wasn't up yet, and Tim certainly shouldn't be. He thought about watching television, but the thought of the programs that ran at six in the morning turned his stomach so instead he went to his laptop.

Without thinking he began scanning news websites for what might have happened in the six or seven hours since he was awake. He checked local news first, then moved on to the world. There were signs of activity from the Justice League and the team as well. Some as a group, some as individuals, some blatantly obvious, others more subtle.

Dick ambled down to the batcave to look over the test results. He pointedly avoided looking at the body laid out on the table and looked only at the test results on the computer screen. He might have missed it, had he not been looking for it.

"Bingo," a speculative smile began to spread across his face as he contemplated the meaning of the new information.

Was it just wishful thinking?. Or could it actually be true?. He knew he was right. He had to be right.

By the time he went back upstairs, Alfred was up and running, fixing breakfast though he had no way of knowing when Tim would be up or if either Tim or Dick would be interested in eating.

"Morning, Alfred," Dick came into the kitchen and perched himself on the counter.

"Awfully chipper this morning, aren't we?," Alfred observed.

Dick grinned, then shrugged.

"I hope I've got reason to be," he replied "we'll see soon enough, I suppose,"

* * *

_Wayne Tower_

_10:30 AM_

"You seem to have a difficult time taking a hint, Mr. Luthor," Dick said.

He didn't bother saying hello, getting up or inviting Luthor to have a seat. Luthor had become a nuisance to Dick Grayson, and was already the enemy of Batman. Either way, he had no respect for the man and wanted him out of his life.

"Did you bother Bruce this much or am I a special case?,"

Luthor seated himself uninvited and didn't answer until he had settled himself perfectly comfortably.

"The Daily Planet had a very interesting article about you," Luthor commented "fascinating reading. You're so eager to follow in your father's footsteps, but is that really what you want?. Surely he raised you to be able to make up your own mind,"

"What I want, Mr. Luthor, is none of your business," Dick replied evenly, leaning forward in his chair "and quite frankly I don't see why it would interest someone like you anyway,"

"I didn't come here to listen to veiled insults," Luthor said curtly "I want to buy Wayne Enterprises and I'm willing to pay a fair price for it. You could live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your days and not have to lift a finger again for as long as you live,"

Dick smiled, shaking his head slowly, then laughed humorlessly.

"It must be nice to exist in such a beautiful fantasy world," Dick said "I wonder, does the board at Luthorcorp know how very delusional you are?,"

"What do you think you're protecting?," Luthor asked, eyes narrowing "I've offered you freedom from work, you already have money and fame. Opportunity has knocked more than once now, so why do you keep slamming the door?,"

"Maybe I like my life as it is," Dick said "opportunity usually means change. And considering my track record on that subject, I'd rather leave things as they are,"

"Look!. I'm tired of playing games with you!. You don't seem to understand that you're in the real world now. Your decisions have consequences. Do you really consider yourself qualified to run this company as efficiently as needed?. Think of all those employees you'd be letting down if you made a mistake. Think of how disappointed Bruce would be if you ran his company into the ground,"

Dick smiled, leaning back in his chair to put a bit of distance between himself and Luthor. Then he sighed, shaking his head to show how weary he was.

"When I was nine, my entire family was murdered," he said "there was some debate at the time about whether it was sabotage or an accident, but I knew. My childhood was stolen from me in that moment. I could have easily become one of those unfortunate souls who dwell in Arkham if not for one man. Now that man was Bruce Wayne. Many years later, he adopted another boy who, like me, had lost everything he held dear. That boy is dead now, murdered, just like my first family. As if fate decreed that I should be alone, just a few weeks ago my adoptive father was stolen from me as well. Do you understand, Mr. Luthor?. Games are all I've got left,"

"Yes, your entire life story is very tragic, and made excellent news. But, come now, we both know the tortured youth act is just that. You're no more vulnerable than I am,"

Dick smiled again, allowing his darker half to show just a little.

"I never claimed to be vulnerable," Dick said "all I said was that games are all I have. Did you know that most games end if you make a mistake?. You have to restart the level, or the game itself. Do you have any idea how much I hate starting over?," he shook his head, got up and went to look out the window, turning his back on Luthor "I hate to lose, Mr. Luthor, something I'm sure we have in common. But have you ever stopped to consider that you may not be the most dangerous man in this room?,"

Dick didn't have to see Luthor's expression to know the man was torn between fear and rage. Dick had alluded to Arkham, a place for the criminally insane. People who were violent and unreasoning, who put Luthor's own darkest side to shame.

Dick turned his head enough to look at Luthor out of the corner of his eye. He let all his darkness, all the pain and fury within, show through his eyes, and was thrilled by the uncomfortable look on Luthor's face. His own darkness was much greater than that of the man who sat before him. Luthor was corrupt, was evil and detestable, but his was a thirst for power with violence only being a side effect of his desire. In Dick's eyes there was true darkness, the same madness that was such a part of Joker lurked in the indigo eyes of this boy.

A hunger for violence, for blood and death and chaos, a brilliant mind using its own insanity against the world. It was a corner of himself that Dick tried to deny, to avoid at all costs. That part of who he was that Batman had taught him to control and contain, but had been unable to rid him of.

"If you have any other offers to make," Dick said after a long drawn out moment "I'm sure your lawyers can have a nice long chat with my lawyers. My advice is this: go home, stop wasting your time and mine, and quit trying to control things you don't understand,"

In Luthor's eyes there was a rage that said: People have died for this!.

And in Dick's there was the answer: People have also died for less.

It left a question hanging in the air, one Luthor was either unable or unwilling to answer.

Just which one of them was more dangerous anyway?.

* * *

_**A/N: Now before you go completely wild about the handling of Joker in this story, take some time to consider these two things:**_

_**1. In the Young Justice series, he showed up all of once. In that episode, he was very dangerous... with a team. When he was fighting on his own he was something of a... well... joke.**_

_**2. He may be THE Batman villain, but not THIS Batman's villain. Have you ever noticed how often a supervillain looks just like any other villain when they're pitted against someone other than their arch nemesis?.**_


	7. Chapter 6 - Surrounded

_Batcave_

_10:30 PM_

"Where are we going?," Robin asked curiously.

Shortly after returning home, Batman had received a message from Superman. He hadn't showed it to Robin, but it seemed to have thrown him into a frenzy of activity.

"You're staying here," Batman said.

"What?. Why?,"

"If we get into a fight, how well do you think you can take care of yourself?. Every time we've gone out recently, you've gotten hurt one way or another. I'm not letting that happen again,"

"Oh come on, that's part of the deal," Robin protested "we both knew that when we became Robin,"

Batman had been walking towards the batmobile with Robin close at his heels. Now he turned and looked his brother right in the eye. He looked as though he would yell, or begin a lecture. But instead he just turned and walked away.

Robin watched him go, hurt and confused.

"I thought we were partners!," Robin shouted after him.

Batman paused, his hand on the door of the batmobile. There was a hesitation in his eyes. He'd spoken those words before, he remembered that moment. He swallowed and took a deep breath, opening the batmobile. As he slid into the driver's seat, he quietly said "not tonight, Robin,".

The engine roared to life and he drove away.

Robin watched the batmobile disappear, bewildered and unhappy. He thought he'd graduated from being a sidekick. He'd become a member of the team because he was ready to do things on his own. He'd been put in charge of missions on more than one occasion, and had done pretty darn well at it too. Batman was treating him like a child and that infuriated him. But it also hurt, knowing that his brother didn't trust him, didn't even want his help.

"You're going to follow him, aren't you," Alfred said it as a statement, not a question.

He too, remembered the words that had passed between Batman and Robin. A different Batman, and a different Robin, but so similar in essence that the result was bound to be the same.

Robin looked over at Alfred. For once the man didn't seem to have any words of wisdom to impart. It was just as well because Robin wasn't prepared to listen. He wasn't about to go off half-cocked though.

Crossing to the computer, he opened the test results and scanned them quickly. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. It took a bit of hacking to get into Batman's email and look at the message from Superman, but he managed that too. It showed a map with directions, a set time and said that a Luthorcorp truck was going along that route, its cargo was unknown. The starting point was less than ten miles from where the explosion had taken place.

"What are you moving, Luthor?," Robin wondered aloud.

He looked over at Alfred, thinking hard. Batman had gone alone, and clearly did not intend to be followed. But something told Robin that there was a greater danger here than they could handle alone. It was a gut reaction he'd learned to listen to, especially in the last few months.

Quickly he composed a message.

"If I don't call in an hour, send this to the watchtower,"

Without waiting for a response, Robin turned and left. Alfred looked at the message, reading with surprise the words which were a simple and straight forward request for assistance. Nothing fancy, right to the point. It didn't bother with details, saying that Superman could answer any questions.

* * *

_Interstate Highway_

_11:03 PM_

Smoke pellets had halted the progress of the van, because they clouded up the windshield and made it impossible to see. The moon was out and bright, shining blindingly onto the snow which was piled high on either side of the road.

Without hesitating, Batman approached the van. He paused at the driver's side, yanking open the door. With a practiced hand, he shoved the driver forward hard, striking his face against the wheel. The man slumped in his seat, unconscious.

Batman ducked and dodged gunfire from the passenger seat, slipping under the vehicle, smashing through the passenger side window, grabbing the gun and yanking on it so abruptly that the passenger's head made contact with the frame of the door with a satisfying 'thump'. He fell back on his companion.

Batman looked at the gun with a mixture of disgust and bemusement. His only training on the weapon was how to disassemble it and how to avoid getting killed by it. He could, of course, use it. It wouldn't even be particularly difficult. He just never had and didn't intend to start now.

He tossed the weapon into the snow.

As he turned towards the back of the van, he realized that he had made a mistake. Pulling up behind the halted vehicle were three other vans. It hadn't occurred to him that this van would have much of an escort. It was supposed to be traveling in secrecy.

He cursed under his breath. There were no shadows to fade into as the other vehicles opened at the back and spilled their contents onto the pavement.

The air was suddenly full of yipping, snarling, howling sounds. Heavy snorting and scraping of claws on the ground betrayed the monstrous creatures which were even now taking in their surroundings. Many times before, he had taken on monsters such as these. The difference was that the formula for their creation had improved significantly.

These were intelligent creatures. They knew they could shift their shape. They were supernaturally aware of their surroundings. They were faster, stronger and more agile than Batman could hope to be.

He checked his utility belt. He only had enough batarangs soaked in the cure for eight. He wished that a simple smoke grenade type of device would suffice, but the cure had to get into the blood stream, and in quantity. His aim had to be perfect. And it still wouldn't be enough.

There had to be twenty of the monsters. Could he take out twelve on his own?. Hell no.

The first of the creatures zeroed in on him. Glittering yellow eyes shone in the night. The moon cast the slavering open mouth of the creature in an unholy light. The massive claws of the heavy-bodied animal ticked on the road.

So close. He'd been so very close. But this one mistake would cost him his life.

Maybe so, but then he'd been prepared for that all along. That's why he didn't want Robin along. Chances were the boy wonder would follow him. But he would be going in with an advantage. The trap had already been sprung and, doubtless, Robin would come to the same conclusion as Batman had.

All he had to do was hold out as long as he could, and take down as many of the creatures as he was able. It was all he could do for Robin and the prize he could only hope was contained within the first van. There was a lot of hope in this plan. Even the contents of the van he could not be sure of.

The first creature lunged for him. Back flipping, he came to rest on the top of the van. A second creature crept around the side of the van, a third on the other side. The low groan of something heavy climbing up onto the vehicle betrayed a fourth crawling up the hood of the van.

"Damn,"

* * *

_11:15 PM_

Robin took in the scene in a second. Batman had clearly taken out several monsters, as they lay in various states of transformation. But he was surrounded by still more. Robin hadn't foreseen this particular twist, though he felt like he should have.

Pulling out a handful of birdarangs, Robin threw them with all the accuracy his training granted him. The first three hit their mark, but the startled yelps of the creatures warned the others and three of them missed. Robin swore under his breath, pulling out the last two he had.

Now the creatures knew he was here, and would anticipate his attack. Swiftly, he fought his way to Batman's side and they stood back to back in front of the van which presumably had their objective inside of it.

"How many have you got left?," Batman asked.

"Just two. And you?,"

"Completely out,"

"What do you think our chances are of lasting another twenty or thirty minutes?,"

"Not good,"

Robin nodded thoughtfully to himself. Assuming the team received the message immediately and took off without delay, it would still take them quite a bit of time to get to the location. They weren't especially near a boom tube.

"We can try though, right?," Robin asked.

"Like we've got a choice," Batman shifted away from him suddenly, launching a full scale assault on the creature nearest to him.

Making a small 'eep' noise, Robin dodged the spiked tail of a gray and red behemoth. The tail sliced into the back of the van and there it stuck, apparently because the contents of the van were to be preserved. If it pulled loose, the creature might damage said contents.

Having dodged with a flip upward, Robin came to rest on the creature's tail. He balanced there precariously as the great beast swung at him helplessly. It was already beginning to shift its shape, but that would take precious seconds. Seconds this creature did not have.

Jabbing the birdarang into the monster's tail, Robin again went flying backwards, this time coming to land gracefully on the top of the van.

"Bet that smarts," he spat.

A heavy clawed hand swept him off the roof. He rolled with the impact, then turned and grabbed hold of the tree trunk sized arm. Was this the best time to use his last soaked birdarang?. It was a guaranteed shot, but what if he really needed one later?.

"Oh what the hell," he used it.

It was a move he regretted a moment later when a creature somewhere between a snake and a cat slithered up and caught him tightly in its claws. A huge maw opened as if to swallow him whole. It was over, and he knew it too.

"Oh well," he said to himself "it was a good run while it lasted,"

It was at this point that he chanced to look up and past the creature. Superboy seemed to fly from nowhere, but Robin knew the bio-ship had to be hovering overhead. He was followed by Tigress and Kaldur. Robin expected that to be all, and was surprised when Kid Flash came tumbling down after them, holding a handful of syringes. On the way down, he stuck the snake-cat in the neck and it released Robin. He tumbled about thirty feet before coming to land in a drift of snow.

"Well it's about time,"


	8. Chapter 7 - Nightwing

Robin sat up, shaking snow out of his hair. Kid Flash offered a hand to help him up and he accepted it. Looking around, Robin saw that with the team's help it had taken very little time to subdue all monsters and henchmen for that matter.

"So what's in this van that's so important anyway?," Superboy asked.

"Didn't Superman tell you?," Batman asked, working the lock on the door, which had been damaged by the spiked tail of the creature earlier.

"We didn't wait around for details," Miss Martian had floated down from the ship after Robin was tossed into the snow "we heard you were in trouble and came immediately,"

"It's a good thing too," Robin said, examining the claw marks on his shoulders, wincing at the stinging pain "let's never have a pet cat,"

Batman glared at him, then shook his head.

"So really, what's in there?," Kid Flash asked.

Batman opened the lock, but it took Superboy's help to pry the twisted door open enough to look inside. The moon illuminated what looked almost like the back of an ambulance, complete with drugged patient. Batman climbed in, examined the IV, then removed it carefully.

By this time, the team had identified the person inside the van.

"It's... well... it's," Kid Flash stumbled over the sentence, suddenly a bit unsure of himself.

Being from the future, he knew all the secret identities of both Justice League and team members. But he had been learning that they thought those secrets were important to keep. What he wasn't sure of was whether or not all of those present knew who this was. Really.

Kaldur cleared it up for him.

"It's Batman," he looked down at the young team member.

Robin leaned against the van, as if the uncertainty of what they had been trying to protect was all that had been holding him up until now. He swallowed several times, seemed to choke on nothing and then managed to regain control of himself.

There was a change in the demeanor of the new Batman. A transformation as profound as any of the shape shifters came over him. It was as if the responsibility of being Batman had changed him on a fundamental level, but now that burden was lifted and he could be Nightwing again.

He checked over Bruce's vitals, a look of relief crossing his face each time he found them to be normal. He was almost smiling by the time he picked Bruce up and carried his unconscious mentor from the van.

"Thank you," he said to the team, and the two words had never been more heartfelt.

Maybe he had found his father, had figured everything out. But it had been the team who brought his father back. Without them, Bruce would have been lost forever, and Batman would have died here on the street, along with the only hope for a successor to the cape and cowl.

Gently, he set Bruce down in the passenger seat of the batmobile. Robin had arrived on the R-cycle and would be getting home by the same means.

"Hey," Superboy's voice made Batman turn.

No words needed to pass between them. Superboy had seen a new side of his comrade. The desperation in his eyes when they arrived was not that of someone detached from reality, unaffected by the world around him and existing in his own realm. It was the look of a boy afraid for his family, and willing to do anything to save them. It was an insight Superboy had not had before.

"The world does need Nightwing," he said finally.

Batman nodded, and this time he did smile. Only he wasn't really Batman anymore. He was wearing the mask of Batman, but underneath it was Nightwing. And, Superboy supposed, it always had been. Before heading for home, he took one last look at the team who had come to his aid without reservations or questions. His parting words to them were these:

"For the record, this was a death I didn't fake and knew nothing about, so don't blame me," he said this with an amused grin, but there was a sincere glint in his eyes that suggested that he was only half-joking.

* * *

_Batcave_

_November 7__th__, 12:27 AM_

Bruce came around slowly, taking in his surroundings dizzily. He had been conscious on and off for what seemed like a long time now, but always the places and faces had been unfamiliar. Now though, he recognized the dark rock walls of the cave, his cave.

He was looking to the right, and in that direction there seemed to be nothing but endless space. Over to his left he saw the large computer he'd put together with his own hands. Here too, he saw something which at first startled him. At the desk sat someone dressed like Batman.

At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then his eyes traveled up to the figure's face, which was unmasked. He recognized his son almost at once. He didn't know what had happened between now and the last time he'd seen him, but to see that he'd become Batman in that time was... there weren't words to accurately describe the feeling.

"What happened?," he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Jerking, Dick looked up and then over his shoulder.

"You're awake, that's good," he said "that sure was some powerful stuff they were giving you,"

"Feels like it," Bruce slowly eased himself to a sitting position.

By the time he completed the action, Dick was beside him, holding him steady.

"How long was I out?,"

"Out?," Dick's voice cracked, Bruce wasn't sure whether it was a laugh or a sob that choked him as he said "we thought you were dead. We... you... I," he trailed off.

He turned away from Bruce and took several steps towards the computer, but then stopped. He seemed to shake for a moment, before a deep breath brought his emotions back under control. He looked at Bruce, and there was pain in his eyes.

"We still need you," he said quietly "Gotham still needs you,"

Bruce, still a little drugged, wasn't entirely sure what Dick was trying to tell him. He could see that his son was upset, but exactly why that might be seemed to be escaping him. Also, Dick still hadn't answered his question. As if suddenly remembering that, Dick looked at his watch.

"It's after midnight, which makes it the seventh of November," Dick said.

"Well what happened?," Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head and seemed to be choking on nothing again and didn't answer.

"I might have known," Bruce said dryly "dead for weeks and now it's just business as usual. Well that's fine,"

Looking around, Bruce noticed a body covered in canvas. Getting up, he went over and looked under the canvas. He was shocked to see his own face looking back at him.

"A clone?," he guessed.

"Shape shifter," Dick replied "a clone would have been more convincing,"

"What do you mean?,"

"Bruce Wayne died," Dick explained "not Batman,"

Of course. A shape-shifter could mimic him right down to the blood cells. But the closest it could imitate his scars was based off of medical records. All the times he'd been shot, stabbed, burned, impaled, gored and cut that weren't in his medical records would have made the shape-shifter as different from him as if it were just another human being wearing a wig as a thin disguise.

"I can't believe I didn't see it sooner than I did," Dick admitted "but I didn't think... I didn't even stop to consider that Luthor might have wanted to murder you,"

"But not really, apparently," Bruce observed.

"Not if he did a blood test. Maybe you're a little older than Nightwing, but I'd guess you're every bit as good for a test subject with their new formula,"

"I knew he wanted Wayne Enterprises, I just didn't realize how badly," Bruce said.

"Badly," Dick replied "he showed up at your funeral,"

Bruce winced at that thought.

"What I don't get is why," Dick said "he doesn't need it for his research,"

"Power," Bruce replied "if he owned Wayne Enterprises, he'd own Gotham just like Metropolis. More money, more power, more fame. Not because he needs it, just because he wants it,"

"Why else do villains do anything?," Dick asked.

Bruce shrugged, then looked around the room again.

"Where's Tim?,"

"I sent him upstairs to get some rest, promised I'd let him know the minute you were awake," Dick replied "he's pretty beat up,"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but refrained from demanding to know what happened and then chewing Dick out for putting his brother in danger. There would be time for that later.

"Well, I'm going up," Dick nodded towards the stairs "it's been a long day,"

"Going to bed at midnight?. That's awfully early,"

"You'd go to bed too if you had to talk to the press at eight o'clock in the morning. Oh wait, you do," Dick smiled "and I'm glad for it. There is nothing more terrifying on this Earth than the mass media,"

"Which is why Bruce Wayne has always been a recluse," Bruce informed him.

"Yeah, I was planning on going into hiding," Dick nodded.

Upstairs, they found that Alfred had made hot chocolate for Tim, who was once more curled up before the fire, looking half asleep, an empty mug on the end table beside him.

Though they were behind him, Tim somehow seemed to sense their presence. His face lit up at the sight of Bruce. He scrambled out of the chair and ran to him. Bruce was startled by the affectionate hug. His family had never been the touchy-feely type. Or the openly affectionate kind.

Dick just looked on, a bright smile on his face.

Bruce wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulders and guided him to the couch. He sat down and his son pressed up next to him, as if he felt vulnerable and wanted his father to protect him. Dick sank down into a chair near the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table in complete ignorance of house rules. Alfred came in with a tray which held several mugs. Each member of the bat family took one gratefully, then Bruce gestured to an unoccupied chair.

"Come watch the fire with us for awhile," he invited.

Without protest, Alfred took a seat and a mug of hot chocolate for himself.

Tim let out a contented sigh, which they all inwardly echoed. Bruce had no idea what had gone on in his absence, but he had felt the stretch of time away from his family. It was good to be home.

* * *

_**A/N: The author is aware of how obvious this conclusion to the story was. If they'd been trying to hide it, they would have titled the story something other than "Resurrection".**_


	9. Chapter 8 - Game On

_Wayne Tower_

_08:30 AM_

"Mr. Grayson, what do you think about this new proposal?," Mark Channing, a tall man in his mid-forties came into the office Grayson had recently been occupying.

He had expected to find the boy behind the desk and at first thought he was there since the chair was turned away from the door and towards the bay window that gave a fantastic view of Gotham. The view was fantastic because, from this distance, it was hard to see the grime.

But Grayson turned out to be sitting on the couch which had been placed to one side of the office primarily for decorative purposes, his feet propped up on the coffee table and a newspaper held open with one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

He peered over the top of the paper at Channing, then shrugged indifferently.

"Really, I couldn't care less about it," he said mildly, then gestured towards the desk chair "Mr. Wayne, on the other hand, probably has some opinion on the subject,"

Channing started to try and explain to the delusional youth that his adoptive father was dead and buried, then did a double take when he saw Bruce Wayne sitting in the chair, which was now turned to face him. Unsteadily, he inched his way over to the desk and dropped the file.

"I, but... how... I... um...,"

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Bruce said, picking up the file and opening it.

"It's in the morning paper," Grayson said, turning the front page around so Channing could see it.

What he said was true. It had turned out that the dead body belonged to some sort of genetic clone or something, the details were a bit fuzzy. The real Bruce Wayne had been held captive by an unknown person until he was rescued by Batman the night before.

"But why... why would anybody fake your death?," Channing asked, still trying in vain to process the abrupt and very significant change to his universe.

Grayson and Bruce exchanged a glance, whose meaning Channing entirely misinterpreted.

"Why do criminals do anything?," Grayson asked cheerfully, sipping his coffee.

Channing couldn't remember a time when Grayson or Bruce either one had indulged in the beverage, but he now noticed another cup on the desk obviously belonging to Bruce. He supposed that coffee was probably as good a way to celebrate as any.

After Bruce made a few comments on the proposal, Channing left, shaking his head.

"So, who's next on the agenda?," Bruce asked, as if he didn't already know.

"Next we have the great philanthropist himself, Lex Luthor," Dick replied, not looking up from the paper "who will yet again attempt to purchase, form a partnership with or otherwise take control of Wayne Enterprises,"

"Of course, he's probably already read the morning paper," Bruce commented.

"In addition to oh so very carefully covering up all evidence of his involvement," Dick said.

"Including the Decker brothers,"

Dick's face fell.

"Yeah, them too,"

The brothers had apparently committed suicide after their midnight visitor left. But the invisible hand of Luthor could be felt between the lines of the article on page three.

"They were doomed from the moment they got in bed with Luthor," Bruce said "there's nothing you could have done to protect them from that,"

"To be honest," Dick said quietly "I didn't even give them a second thought. I didn't really think about anyone except you, and the hope you were still alive. I guess I just... wasn't ready to say goodbye,"

"But you will be," Bruce said encouragingly "when the day finally does come. You've proven that,"

"Someday, yes," Dick admitted reluctantly.

Sometimes Dick's awareness of mortality and the constant presence of death in the world made Bruce a little sad. Someone so young shouldn't think about the end of life so often. But then he shook that feeling off. Dick had chosen the life, and there was no turning back time and changing it. Bruce wasn't even sure he would if he could.

"But I'm afraid when that day comes Gotham will have to make do with Nightwing," Dick added after a moment's pause "I've had enough of being the Dark Knight to last me one lifetime,"

"It's not the name of the hero that matters," Bruce told him "it's what he does when the world needs him, how he reacts to that need, that matters,"

"That may be so," Dick said "but the true hero of Gotham will always be Batman,"

"Can't argue with that," Bruce replied.

"And now," Dick sighed, standing up and stretching "I have something I need to do. Think you can handle Luthor on your own this time?,"

"If I can't, I know a certain hero who will come and find me,"

"Fair enough,"

* * *

_Watchtower_

_09:00 AM_

"Nightwing," Kaldur looked startled to see his friend in his old costume.

"In the daytime, no less," Superboy who'd been walking beside him commented.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, then asked quizzically "Daywing?,"

The joke was bad, but it was good to hear Nightwing's sense of humor again. The team had been missing that.

"I just came to formally rejoin the team," Nightwing said "if they're willing to take me back,"

"Only if you plan on staying on the team more than two weeks," Superboy told him.

"We have missed you," Kaldur said, smiling tolerantly at Superboy.

"I've kind of missed being me too," Nightwing told him "it's hard being Batman,"

"Wouldn't wish it on anybody," Superboy said quickly.

They were interrupted by a flashing red light and blaring alarm. Nightwing inclined his head, listening for a moment, as if the sound were wholly new to him. Then the three of them went to the briefing room without delay.

They took in the scene before them, the latest crisis. Nightwing quickly took charge of the team, issuing out their instructions without any hesitation. As they split up to do their assigned duties, Superboy caught Nightwing's eye.

"Game on?," he asked.

Nightwing smiled and nodded.

"Game on,"

* * *

_**A/N: Due to the shortness of this chapter and the following epilogue, the author will be uploading the epilogue today as well as the prologue for part 6.**_


	10. Epilogue

_Watchtower_

_03:27 PM_

Crisis successfully averted. There were some injuries to tend to. Reports to be filed too. But the crisis was over, and everybody could return to whatever it was they'd been doing before it began.

For the team and those like them, there was little other choice. Risking their lives every time the alarm sounded, then coming home to make lunch or watch television or take part in a training exercise. All in a day's work. It was the price they paid for the choice they had all made.

"Kaldur says you're the best at this game," Superboy held up a video game box.

Nightwing looked up from recording his take on the events during the crisis.

"Yes...," Nightwing said slowly, uncertainly.

He mentally prepared himself for another fight with Superboy concerning his view of the universe. Superboy had recently accused him of thinking of life as nothing but a game. On the other hand, Nightwing had thought they'd left their fight behind this morning.

"Well I challenge that," Superboy told him.

"Oh you do, do you?," Nightwing felt a twinge of anticipation, now knowing where the conversation was headed, but not interrupting.

"I say I'm better at it than you are," Superboy said.

"Really?. Care to test that theory?," Nightwing asked.

"I mean to prove it," Superboy told him.

"And we intend to watch," Kid Flash appeared suddenly with a bowl of popcorn.

Behind him stood several members of the team, including Kaldur, Tigress and Miss Martian.

Nightwing eyes narrowed and a mischievous smile graced his features.

Superboy smiled back, all misplaced confidence and superiority.

"Well game on, then," Nightwing told him.

"Game on,"


End file.
